


Soft, And I Ache

by AetherAria



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Emotions, Established Relationship, Gentle Sex, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), Making Love, Multi, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poetry, Porn with Feelings, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), also also again, i'm not a scalie but i'm also not a coward, like just fuck me up basically, this is a mess, yet again: SO MUCH TALKING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21829798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: Semantic distinctions matter, when one of your lovers happens to be a poet.
Relationships: Lord Arum/Sir Damien (Penumbra Podcast), Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 258





	Soft, And I Ache

**Author's Note:**

> flksdf;laskd;fs;ldfksjakldsfasd... how is this 5k... of literally fluff and sex and schmoop... oh god... i am a Mess(tm)... either i hate this or i very love it and i can't figure out which right now... but it's also nearly one in the a m and i have to work in the morning so!!! fuckit, babes.
> 
> Title from the frickin song Strawberry Blond by Mitski... thank you Mitski.

Damien is… creative about his phrasings, when it comes to having sex with Arum.

Metaphorical, mostly. He enjoys talk of _tasting_ , of dueling, of tumbling and tangling together, of lying together, of simply _sleeping together_. Arum thinks that the little knight might catch fire if he ever tries to say the word _fuck_ as casually as their herbalist. The crassness sits very delightfully on Amaryllis’ tongue, but for Damien it would not suit.

With all of that in mind… if Arum goes by the words that Sir Damien has chosen, he and his poet have not, as of yet, _made love_.

He wonders about that. Why Damien is unwilling to call what he and Arum do in the sheets (and on Arum’s worktable, and against the wall, and occasionally out on a blanket in the swamp after a vigorous session of sparring) making love. He nearly always refers to it in that way at least once during every act with Amaryllis, though he does drift into poetics there as well, all sorts of _give myself to you_ s and _sharing the pleasures of the flesh_ dancing on his tongue.

Arum would not even think about it at all, of course, if Damien were not so deliberate in his choice of word in all instances. It always _means_ something, with Damien. The words he plucks, the phrasings he weaves. So why, then?

It isn’t as if the poet is less delicate with Arum than he is with their Amaryllis. He is just as attentive and gentle and adoring with the monster as with her. There does not seem to be any reason to call their sex by different terms.

It is a meaningless distinction.

Of course it is.

… he cannot attempt to discuss the concern with Amaryllis. She will ask _questions_ , of course, and obviously it is not so important that he is willing to face the look she will give him, that _smirk_ , that raised eyebrow and fond laugh. No, he cannot ask. Not that it is important enough to ask about, anyway.

He knows that Damien _loves_ him. That is… inarguable. The poet is quite willing to say so. It is a consequence of his need to _speak his heart_ when it so moves him, and Arum- Arum has slowly, by steps, become more adept at giving the poet his words in return. There is safety in it, even. He trusts, he _knows_ the knot they weave between them, all three in this burgeoning love, this unpredictable but gleeful magic. He _knows_ Damien loves him; that is not the issue.

 _I love you, Damien_ , and his honeysuckle will smile so surprised and warm, will bloom with the bliss of that love, will speak his love in return.

So why not _make_ love to, then? Why leave Arum relegated to metaphor and coyness?

He does not ask. He attempts not to consider the matter at all. He is certain that Amaryllis suspects him of some worry, but she does not press. Not even when they come together in bed, when they- when they _sleep together_ , and Arum holds the question tight to himself and does his best to focus on what _is_ , instead of on words as yet unspoken.

He is still considering it, however. Despite his efforts. Damien’s voice is in his head, Damien’s musical tone, rhymes like spells that slip into his mind and stick there, and Arum cannot help but wonder. Damien will sleep with him. Will tangle together with him and take his taste and allow Arum to fill him with pleasure and with adoration, but-

Damien does not make love to him. Or- Arum does not make love to Damien. Or perhaps, it is that they do not make love together.

The question unburies itself when they are alone together. They have been teasing out the act of sex for time that feels immeasurable, tongues and hands, and teeth- all slow and patient on a rare day of unfettered leisure, and Arum’s desire is underpinned with softness, is interwoven with adoration, and all he wishes is to treat this creature with every ounce of the love that springs bright within him, and Arum _wants_ it, wants not only to sleep with Damien, not only to have _sex_ with him, but wants it stated, wants Damien to know, wants him to say-

Limbs tangle together, they roll on Arum’s large soft bed until Damien is on all fours above Arum, with Arum’s arms wrapped around his back to drag careful claws down his shoulder blades, two others gripping Damien’s hips, his tail twined around one of his legs, both panting and hard and eager and Damien leans close to press his hot mouth against the scales of Arum’s lips, and they have been leading slow to this for so very long, this day, and Arum is desperate for Damien, knows that Damien is desperate for him in return, is eager and pliant and Arum has Damien’s taste already on his tongue and his cocks are already slicked and waiting for Damien to sink himself down, the poet is already teased to eagerness and desperation, and Arum feels-

He feels just brave enough, perhaps.

Damien hangs over him, hot and soft like sunlight, kissing a heavy trail down his neck, and Arum’s grip on his poet tightens, just enough that Damien lifts his head to meet the monster’s eyes.

“Honeysuckle…” he barely manages the full word before he hesitates, still holding Damien steady with hands on his sides, on his thighs. “May… may I…”

“Arum,” Damien breathes, lifting a warm hand to caress Arum’s jaw, smiling so softly that Arum’s heart stumbles. “Oh, my lily, you may do anything to me that you like, anything at _all_ , any way you touch me will only fill me with joy, oh darling creature-”

“May I make love to you?” Arum asks, and his heart thuds hard in his throat when Damien’s eyes go wide.

“Ah- Arum?”

Arum ducks his head, looking aside, but Damien’s hand is still on his jaw, and after a breath the poet’s gentle fingers draw him back, tilting his face up until Arum meets his eyes again. Arum’s tail lashes beneath him, coiling anxious around Damien’s ankle, but the breathless wonder on Damien’s face softens the worry within him.

“You… my lily-”

“A- a semantic distinction only, I know,” Arum quickly deflects. “Nothing of consequence, of course, I only- I only-”

“You wish to- to make love to me?” Damien asks, so terribly breathless, and Arum needs to avert his eyes again.

“Of _course_ I do, don’t be ridiculous.”

He’s growling low, tongue darting in rapid, aimless flicks, and suddenly Arum tastes salt on the air. He braves another look upward, and-

There are tears in Damien’s eyes.

“Honeysuckle-”

“You are so- oh, Arum, oh, my most magnificent monster, you-”

Damien peppers Arum’s snout with kisses, chaste and affectionate as if he were not only moments ago preparing to pierce himself upon Arum, as if he were not still hot and ready and hanging above his equally ready lover.

“Is that-” Arum’s breath slips from him in a purring rush. “You would- you desire that, then?”

“Of _course_ , of course I do, I _always_ do-”

Arum feels something in his ribs constrict at the certainty in Damien’s voice. He feels a little bit foolish, as well.

“Then- then _why_ -”

He cuts himself off.

“Why…” Damien blinks, tilting his head and looking down at the monster with still-shining eyes. “Why, what?”

Arum stares up at his knight, at the strong easy whole of him, and he clenches his jaw tight. “If- if you wish for me… if you wish for us to make love, in those terms, why have you- why have you not said-” he pauses. “You speak your heart so easily, honeysuckle, so I- I thought, perhaps, if you avoided such terminology-”

“No, no that isn’t- oh Arum I- with all of my heart I wish to make love with you. I _do_.”

“Why not… why not say so, then?”

“I thought- well, I _worried_ that you would be unhappy with that phrasing,” Damien says with a nervous sort of smile. “I was concerned that it would _embarrass_ you, that you would think… that you would consider my inclination towards such softness to be- to be _laughable_.”

“ _Laughable_ ,” Arum breathes. “Honeysuckle, _never_ -”

“Of _course_ I consider our lovemaking as such. I simply know- I know my _intensity_ is- potentially overwhelming, unwelcome-”

“ _Never_ ,” Arum repeats, the growl caught somewhere in his throat.

“I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

“Loving you could _never_ make me uncomfortable, honeysuckle.”

Damien shakes his head, leaning down to press a kiss to Arum’s cheek. “No, I know. I know. But- at times it is clear that you- you _are_ made uncomfortable by overtly affectionate displays, by- _sentimentality_. I was attempting to- to respect that.”

“Overtly affectionate…” Arum snaps his teeth together, his frill pressing flat to his neck in embarrassment. Which- proves his honeysuckle’s point, somewhat, he realizes. “I- well-” He pauses again, a low keening noise whirring unbidden at the back of his throat. “Have I not… have I not, perhaps, shown you well enough how I… how I love you?” Arum asks, quiet. “Have I not shown you how I love your affection? Your sentiment, and softness?”

“Arum,” Damien says, heat rushing to his cheeks, and now it is the poet’s turn to duck his head, to avert his gaze.

“No, honeysuckle,” he lifts a hand, knuckles brushing Damien’s jaw. “Clearly, clearly if you would think that I would be off-put to hear you say _make love_ , I have not proven well enough the way I love you. I have allowed my own pride to interfere.”

“Arum it isn’t-” his eyes flick away again with a half a breath of nervous laughter. “It is not so serious as all that, it was not a- a judgment of your love for me-”

“I know. I know, little honeysuckle.” He leans up, nuzzling his snout against Damien’s cheek, and then he flicks his tongue soft up his jaw, tickling lightly at the curve of his ear. “Even so. I would be honored to make love to you, Damien. If you will allow me.”

“I- I- Arum, I would say with _certainty_ that we have made love before, I may not have said it, but I certainly felt- we have, we _have_ -”

“I know that as well, little love. And still, even so. Tonight I desire to be… to give to you as I should always have. To match your softness. I love you, honeysuckle, and I wish to make love to you, if you would desire this too. I would hear you say it.”

“I… I…” Damien chokes out a breath, and then he folds, his body draping over Arum’s and his hands clinging to Arum’s shoulders, his forehead pressed close to Arum’s own as he whispers, “oh, oh _please_ , of course I- Arum, I- I love you so-”

Arum presses his mouth to Damien’s. It does not feel like a choice, really. It is simply inevitable. As inevitable as the little moan that slips from the poet’s lips when he kisses back.

Arum smiles when Damien pulls away (that feels inevitable, too), and then he readjusts his grip on the poet above him. He rolls himself up, until he is sitting, positioning Damien so he is sitting in his lap, their heat pressed together again and making the both of them gasp. This only lasts a moment, though, before Arum moves again, his hands in concert, two slipping beneath Damien’s knees and two holding his waist, gentle and firm, and he lowers Damien back to the bed, the hands under his legs lifting and another arm wrapping around his waist and the last so, so carefully cupping the back of Damien’s head, claws tangling with his curls, and Damien breathes a surprised laugh against Arum’s shoulder as the monster presses his body down over him.

“Arum,” he says, a smile in his voice, and Arum nuzzles against his cheek with a helpless purr.

“You said, earlier, that you trusted that any way I touch you will only fill you with joy. I would love nothing more than to earn those words.” He drifts his palms light down Damien’s thighs, claws only ever gentle on his skin as his coolness meets Damien’s heat. “Honeysuckle, allow me to take care of you. Please.”

“I love you _so much_ , Arum,” Damien manages, his voice full and wild with trembling, and he cups Arum’s face in soft hands and strokes his thumbs across scales.

“I love you, Damien.” He nuzzles another kiss to Damien’s lips, and then another, and then another. “May I? Are you ready?”

“Oh, oh yes, _yes-_ ” Damien’s body arches in Arum’s arms, his lips parting in a gasp, that elegant curved bow revealing the pink of his tongue and the blunt white of his teeth, and Arum’s body _thrums_. “Please-”

“Would you- would you say it, for me?” Arum whispers, somehow managing the words while still meeting Damien’s eye. “Would you ask?”

Damien’s cheeks go so hot, so quickly, and Arum is helpless against the urge to press his mouth into another kiss.

When their mouths part, Damien exhales a shaking breath and takes Arum’s face in both hands again. “My lily… my Arum…” he smiles, his eyes gone bright again. “Make love to me?”

Arum asked, for this. He has no excuse for the way the words knock the breath from his lungs in one sharp, sweet blow. He presses his forehead to Damien’s, presses his mouth into yet one more soft kiss, and nods just enough that Damien can feel it.

He moves himself into Damien so, so slowly. Each inch, each breath a gentle forward shift, so terribly careful, and Arum watches Damien’s face the entire time. He observes Damien’s shaking breaths, observes the way Damien bites his lip, observes Damien observing him in return, eyes fixed and adoring. When he has filled Damien as deeply as he can, when he is settled flush between Damien’s legs with the poet still held secure in his arms, his upper cock pressing against Damien’s, Arum watches him still, listening to his heart and his breath and drinking in the nuance of his responses. When Arum is satisfied that Damien has been given enough time to adjust, he pulls himself back again, equally slowly, until he has nearly pulled away entirely, and then- he pauses.

“Oh… look at you, honeysuckle,” he murmurs, and then he begins to press himself forward again, drawing his hand through Damien’s hair as he thrusts. “So beautiful, full of such _passion_ ,” he says, and Damien’s sweet-drumming heart drums faster. “So clever and bright and sweet-”

“Arum,” Damien murmurs, his tone fluttering between flattered and nervous as he clutches tight to Arum’s body, letting Arum take him slow. “Wh- what are you-”

“I am giving you such sweetness as you deserve, honeysuckle.” He rolls his hips, nuzzling his snout against Damien’s cheek. “If I have been neglecting to show the softness you spur in me, I think it would only be best-” his voice gets lost in a hiss for a moment, pleasure and love coiling together inside him. He takes the opportunity to flick his tongue to taste Damien’s throat as he thrusts, an even and determined rhythm. “It would only be best,” he tries again, “to tell you how I feel. To _show_ you.”

“Love, oh love I know how you feel-”

“I am easily embarrassed, honeysuckle, that much is true. But that embarrassment is not grown from any ill feeling.” Arum speaks through his movements, purring low into Damien’s ear as he holds him, as he thrusts into him. “I am… _overwhelmed_ , at times. I am unaccustomed to feeling so strongly. When you speak your heart, you so often mention how it _aches_ in you, that depth of feeling that causes your breath to catch-”

Damien’s breath catches just then, as well, his lips pressing soft against Arum’s jaw as he gasps there, as he clings with hot hands to Arum’s back.

“I did not know that feeling, before. Before yourself, before Amaryllis.” Arum swallows, but he will not stop, now. He has begun this, and he will not retreat from the size of these feelings. Damien is worth that, Damien deserves-

“Arum-”

“That is why I shy from your poetry, at times,” he admits in a murmur. “You weave such honest tapestries, and there are moments and lines of verse that you may as well have plucked from my own mind. It is… difficult, for me, to be seen so plainly after so long alone.”

Damien moans light and lovely, and his gaze has gone a little vague, a little fuzzy with distraction at the slow-building pleasure they are creating between them. Arum understands; he is stretching the limits of his own focus, trying to speak so softly and honestly while he… while he makes love to Damien. It is nearly impossible to pull any fraction of his mind from the feeling, from the sheer sensation of Damien beneath him and around him. Damien keeps his slightly muddled gaze fixed on Arum, though, while his fingertips press into Arum’s back with an earnest sort of desperation, and Arum, in turn, speaks.

“Amaryllis always states her love quite plainly,” he says, “and that may be overwhelming in its own way. But you, honeysuckle- when you speak, it is not merely that you say what is in my heart as if you can see through to it. No, you- you capture the _feeling_ with the phrase. You take the tangle of adoration within me and put it to your tongue- you speak it into the open air so beautifully-”

“I- I-” Damien bites his lip, gasping, and Arum holds him so, so carefully, drawing soothing claws through his hair. “I speak only- only my own heart, my lily,” he breathes, his body rolling to meet each thrust.

Arum smiles and closes his eyes a moment, pressing their foreheads together with a purr rumbling rough in his throat. “That should tell you, little honeysuckle, how our hearts have grown together, that you speak ours as well, when you speak your own.”

“Arum,” Damien murmurs, his expression raw and open. Arum flicks his tongue to draw up his throat in response, reveling in his gasps. “Oh, oh Arum-”

“I may not be accustomed to speaking so, little love,” he says softly. “I may not have much practice expressing my affection, but there is much that we have learned from each other. You speak your heart, and I know mine all the better. It is only right that I speak as I am able, that I give you what gentle words I can. I know how you adore them.”

“Adore- adore _you_ , Arum, love you so, so-” Damien manages, and Arum can feel the way his poet is trembling now, the way he is circling closer to the center of his pleasure as Arum fills him. Arum holds him all the more securely through that trembling, scaled fingers and ever-so-careful claws caressing where they can, soothing and light.

“And I love you,” Arum murmurs, his own voice catching breathless on the words. “And you know how I love to hear you speak that love, honeysuckle, to hear you call my name. Particularly when I am- when we-” He pauses, breathes a joyful laugh, then nuzzles even closer to murmur in Damien’s ear. “Particularly when we make love.”

Damien moans, then presses his lips to Arum’s cheek, the line of his jaw, and Arum has been purring for long enough that he has stopped noticing, but the tenderness of the gesture makes the rumbling in his throat grow louder still. Arum feels that he is himself careening towards overwhelmed; Damien is too- too _much_ , too much altogether beneath him. Too sweet, too earnest, pleasure like a rainstorm that touches his every scale. Arum holds the poet close, a hand still scratching through his hair, an arm wrapped around his waist, one hand gently curled around his thigh, and the last he pulls from Damien’s other leg and slips between their bodies, instead. He wraps his hand around Damien’s hardness, stroking along with the movement of his hips, the movement of his second cock against Damien as well, gratified when the added pleasure makes the poet’s muscles tense, when it makes him moan again.

“ _Yes_ ,” Arum hisses. “Oh, your _noises_ , honeysuckle. My poet, my poet- even such noises as these sound like verse from your lips. Even in this you sound like music and beauty.”

“Arum,” Damien murmurs again, and the way his name falls from Damien’s lips is- like jewels, like honey.

“I know you’re close, little love,” he manages to say in a breathless waver. “You do not know how- how it delights me, each time I am lucky enough to carry you through to your deepest pleasure. Let me take you there again.”

Damien clings to him, his hips stuttering to meet Arum, giving little gasps into the crook of Arum’s neck. “Please, please- oh oh love, I-”

“I love you, Damien,” Arum says, soft and close, and Damien’s entire body trembles, his breath hitching in something near a sob, and Arum’s hand and Arum’s words and Arum filling him deep and rhythmic and steady are pressing Damien closer, and closer still. “Precious honeysuckle- we love you so fervently- I cannot find the proper words. I never _worry_ , though, because you- you, honeysuckle- you speak our love with such clarity and reverence- you have more than enough words for all of us, enough beauty to share.”

He slips his hand out of Damien’s hair and cups his face instead, thumb brushing soft over his cheeks, and Damien gasps and looks up at him and there is such wild warmth in those tawny eyes that it makes Arum feel nearly _burned_.

“I have no mind for composition as you do, my honeysuckle,” he breathes, “but I certainly remember the compositions that have been so generously given to me. At times, I wish to pull a mirror close, to let you see yourself so enraptured, to hear what beauty you would compose when confronted with your own.”

Damien is shaking beneath him, around him, and Arum is _compelled_ , he _needs_ to pull him closer somehow, needs Damien to know how safe and held and loved he is- he slips his other hand beneath the poet, wrapping two arms securely around Damien’s back, and then without upsetting the rhythm of their movements together he _lifts_. He readjusts them so Damien is carefully held in his lap, aloft in the gentle grip of all four arms as Arum thrusts up into him.

“Once,” Arum murmurs close against Damien’s ear, “once, I remember, you said- you recited-” he pauses, drawing in a breath and attempting to match that lilting tone his honeysuckle can slip into with such ease, and then he opens his mouth again.

“ _Softest petals among sharpest_

_thorns, storm-fierce passions enmeshed_

_in sapling-supple grace, and I fall_

_enthralled, by your susurrated song-_ ”

Damien moans soft, clings tightly to Arum as he is filled and serenaded with his own poetry, and Arum’s heart could overflow altogether, because he knows perfectly well how it feels to be so showered in such words.

“You composed that beauty, you spoke those words to me, do you remember-” Damien gasps again, nodding sharply against Arum’s shoulder, and Arum can’t help his soft smile. “I thought, even then- I slipped away afterward because you were speaking _of me_ but I could not understand how you- how you knew- you knew _precisely_ how I felt, looking at _you_. My honeysuckle, soft and sharp and fierce and graceful- you spoke as if you looked into the mirror of my eyes and saw _yourself_ , and- and I- honeysuckle, oh honeysuckle I love you, I love you-”

Damien gasps again, sharp and out of control, and he tries to speak and Arum can see the shape of his lips echo Arum’s words but he is too overwhelmed to put them to voice, and then Damien closes his eyes and clings even more tightly to Arum and he shudders out a breath that turns into a helpless shout and-

Damien is-

When Damien comes-

He glows like sunrise, all promise and joy and birdsong, and his glow fills Arum too, until he cannot help but follow in Damien’s wake, drawn as he ever is by the force of his love as his mind goes blank and white with bliss.

For a long moment in the after, Arum holds Damien just as tightly, holds him steady and suspended and safe, holds him until Damien murmurs his name against Arum’s scales, and then Arum gently, so so gently, lowers him back to the bed, nuzzling close against his lips and pulling his hips away so he may slip from Damien's near-overwhelming heat.

They lay panting together, and Arum buries his claws in Damien’s hair again, drawing his fingers through the curls as Damien’s hands lift to cup his face, as the poet leans up to kiss him again, and again, and Damien bites his lip and smiles shyly.

“I- that is to say- that was-” he pauses to laugh, apparently at his own incoherence, and then he kisses the tip of Arum’s snout. “That was _lovely_ , my lily. You- I do not know what possessed you to spoil me so, but I hope you will allow me to return the favor, some night.”

“You spoil me always, honeysuckle,” Arum murmurs, closing his eyes. “Even this, indulging me so-”

“It was a mutual indulgence, then,” Damien says warmly. “There is an elegance in that, each of our pleasures feeding the other, building together.”

Arum nips lightly at Damien’s jaw, delighting in the way it makes the poet laugh, and his chest feels tight with love.

“I… I apologize, honeysuckle, if I made you feel as if… as if I would not welcome your affection. That was never my intent.”

“I know, Arum. I do not feel neglected, or- I know, now, how you felt. I only wish…” Damien hesitates for a moment, his lip curling into a wry sort of smile as he delicately runs his hands over Arum’s horns, down the soft webbing of his frill. “I wish I had known, earlier. I wish I knew, so we could have done this long ago, could have shared such words-”

Arum’s frill flares, just slightly, as he remembers the particular _words_ he has given to his honeysuckle, today. “Y-yes. Words- the- I am aware, of course, that the- the _poetry_ , as it were, I am aware that- that is to say, I hope it did not feel as if I were… as if I were returning a gift to you that I had been given-”

“Oh, Arum-” Damien nuzzles closer, kissing Arum’s cheek with a light laugh. “I- I have rarely been more flattered, my love. I cannot believe… I am shocked that you remembered my words so exactly.”

“I always remember your words,” Arum says, close against Damien’s neck. “Your verse dances in my head, I could not possibly forget.” He pauses, swallowing awkwardly for a moment. “Amaryllis- Amaryllis would surely mock me for such- such sentimentality,” Arum mutters, claws still drawing careful through Damien’s hair, but at that the poet pulls back enough to meet Arum’s eye with an expression of fondness laced with exasperation.

“She very well would _not_ ,” he says firmly. “My love, my lily, you know the both of us better than that. Rilla may tease, yes, but she- she loves you. If we are pulling at these semantic distinctions, as you so called them, then I would argue that you have made love with her just as you have with me. She would not _mock_ you for loving her, and wanting to share that love with her. She does not mock me for just the same.”

Arum presses his lips more tightly together, his frill flaring more fully. “I… I suppose you are… I suppose that is correct,” he mumbles, and then he winces. “This- this is precisely why you were hesitant, isn’t it? This- this is why you had not called it- _this_ is why.”

Damien takes Arum’s face in his hands, gentle and warm. “It is difficult for you, to ease into any sort of gentleness. I understand that, my lily, and I do not judge you for this either. I merely hope, by degrees, that you will come to know that you may trust us with your vulnerable places.”

“I-” Arum exhales, soft, pressing his face into Damien’s hands. “I do trust you. Of course I do. With my life, with every inch of me. I love you.”

“I know. I know you do.” Damien smiles, warm and fond, and he leans up to press his lips to Arum’s mouth with the sort of delicacy that makes Arum feel almost worthy of the creature in his arms. “Just as we love you.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Soft, And I Ache](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181673) by [AetherAria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria)




End file.
